My Brother's Keeper
by WatsonsWarrior
Summary: Murphy's dead. Connor knows that, he saw the walkers take him down and finished it himself. He finds a place for himself with Rick's group, and a friend as close as a brother to him. Written for a gift/prompt on tumblr


(For the-reedus-express. Prompt: "(Boondock Saints/Walking Dead.) When the walkers first come Murph gets bitten and dies. Connor roams and finds Rick's group where there is a man who looks exactly like his brother. Yadda yadda basically a brother/friend relationship developing."

It had been almost four months with the group, to be precise. Connor knew the dates exactly, because tomorrow was Murphy's and his birthday. They would go down to Doc's and have a few drinks, mess around for a bit. Maybe find some friends for the evening. Of course there would be the obligatory to their ma, too. They couldn't forget that. And then before they turned in for the night, Connor might reminisce about Murphy's sixth birthday, when they had put dirt in the cake and fed it to the unsuspecting family.

Or, that's what should've happened tomorrow. But then he remembers his brother is dead, bit by a victim of this outbreak, and for the first time in his life he's battling the darkness alone. He kept going, though. He was without a doubt a fighter, and besides-it was what he hoped Murph would've done if their roles had been reversed. Ever since he had met and joined up with a group of survivors, he had been more hopeful. At times, he could see the good things even without trying.

Connor had landed himself further into the backwoods of the states as soon he realized how wide spread the disease was. Eventually he made his way to Georgia, bypassing Atlanta. At the moment he had found himself crouched beside a small stream, refilling his water bottle. A snapping twig in the distance pulled him from his thoughts, his hand instinctively reaching for the .45 at his hip as he stood silently, moving behind a tree as the sound became more defined-definitely footsteps.

Connor frowned, lowering his gun hand. Walkers didn't run that fast. He peered between the branches of the tree and waited for the source of the sound to round the corner.

Two men had rounded the corner, each carrying weapons and talking in hushed tones. The first was a slim man Connor had guessed to be in his mid 30's, with dark brown hair and a controlled countenance, like he could take charge if he had too. The second man…

Connor remembered how he had suddenly stepped out from behind the tree, making his presence known.

"Hey!" The duo came to a sudden halt and Connor immediately had the second man's crossbow pointed directly at him. "You bit?" the man asked. Connor shook his head, glancing down at his bloody clothes. He shouldn't have moved, but it was unbelievable how alike Murphy the man looked. Everything-the man's hair was a bit longer, he was dirtier, and Murphy had probably never used a real crossbow in his life, but all his features screamed Murphy. Everything, from the understanding eyes and wispy sideburns to the muscle tone of his bare arms. It was like seeing a ghost, except that he knew it wasn't-not only had the disease affectively ruined the chance for people to really die and come back, but the man had a strong southern drawl-plus Connor had seen his brother die. It wasn't Murph, of course it wasn't.

"It's walker blood," Connor finally stuttered, motioning to the blood staining his shirt and jeans. "I swear it."

"Your accent," the first man spoke, "you're not from around here, are you?"

Connor let out a huff of laughter. "Native Irish," he explained. "Name's Connor." He watched as the man holding the crossbow let it down to rest at his side.

"I'm Rick, this is Daryl," the first man said, motioning to Murphy's look-alike. Connor nodded at them both, holstering his gun. They seemed friendly enough, but if there was anything Connor had learned over his entire life, it was that people weren't always as friendly as they appeared. He left his hand resting on his gun.

"You seen a little girl anywhere 'round here?" Daryl asked. "Or any sign of her?"

Connor shook his head no. "Sorry." He watched as the men exchanged looks. By the way it looked they had been at it for a while. "Say, I'll help ya look for her if ya let me," he offered.

"We don't know anything about you, and you don't know anything about us. Don't take this the wrong way, no hostility towards you-but why do you care?" Rick asked.

A memory ran through Connor's head. It was dark in the alley. He had tried to get help to go after Murphy, but there was nobody to go. He had found his brother fighting off walkers, too many for him alone, and too many for them together, but there was no way out of it. So they'd go out together. Or that was the plan until all hell broke loose and Connor had been forced to put a bullet through his own brother's brain. It was a miracle he hadn't opted out then, whether he went to hell for it or not-living seemed just as painful at that time. He couldn't help thinking if there was someone with him they could've made it. Murph could've made it.

"You care about the girl?" Connor had asked, clearing his throat after his voice cracked. The men stood still, than Daryl nodded.

"I cared about somebody too. I'll help." He smirked, a sad grin playing across his face. "Lord knows it's sort of my job."

That was that. No questions asked, and since that day four months ago he liked to think he had become one of the group. He felt like it, anyway. They had been through hell and back together-twice. They had built relationships. Sure, things were rocky and different. It would never be the same. But they cared about each other and would fight for each other. And now, it had all fallen apart.

When they had gone back for Daryl, Connor went with them. Of all the people in the group, Daryl seemed to relate to Connor the most. Of all the people in the group, Connor hadn't expected to be closest to Daryl. The redneck, toting his crossbow and hunting squirrel, had hardly seemed like someone who would care to talk to Connor, much less fight with him. But Connor was wrong-and he was damn glad to admit it.

So when Connor met Merle for the first time, it was surprising as hell to say the least. Daryl had told him, in bits and understated snippets, an offhand comment here or there, about his and Merle's childhood. Daryl didn't hate his brother, so Connor couldn't either.

That was, until Daryl took off with him. Connor watched them disappear into the trees, not knowing why he wasn't stopping them but also not knowing why he would.

First Murphy was gone. Dead.

And Daryl had gone. Might as well be dead. Another brother he had lost. And it hurt so much more than just losing a friend-nobody could ever replace Murph, ever. But Daryl had helped him recover from that more than anything else. And he had become the closest friend Connor had known since Murph. It didn't help that Daryl reminded him in so many ways of Murphy, not only in appearance but in his little quirks and the way he'd laugh with Connor over something stupid, forgetting for a while about the shitty world they lived in.

So when the crossbow bolt sang through the air, gouging the walker that was going after Rick, Connor felt a flood of different emotions. He was pissed, but he was happy. Such a strange emotion and maybe out of place in the current situation, but he couldn't help it. Merle was there too, but that didn't matter.

He had his brother-in-arms back. His friend. He hadn't lost him after all, and they could watch each other's back and go hunting together and defend the others together-for a while, at least. And that was enough for Connor. He caught Daryl's eye and they nodded simultaneously before turning back to the current task of finishing off the walkers.

That evening as Rick, Daryl, Glenn and Connor stood at the top of the hill overlooking the prison yard that was now infested with walkers, Daryl pulled Connor aside.

"Listen," Daryl started. "I ain't much for words, but I need to tell you something." Connor nodded and Daryl continued.

"I'm sorry. Sorry for leaving you all."

"It's okay," Connor said hurriedly, and while it was, it also wasn't. Daryl shook his head.

"Don't shit with me, I know it was stupid but-"

"But he's your brother," Connor said. Daryl looked him in the eyes for maybe the first time that evening.

"Yeah."

There was a moment of awkwardness, but it was bearable. Connor let out a short laugh that ended with a sigh. "It's fine. Just..don't leave again?" Connor asked. Daryl shook his head quickly.

"Believe me, I won't."

And that was that. Because that's what brothers do. You'd do anything for your brother. Connor knew that. He would have done anything for Murph. Daryl had a brother to concern himself with, too. But where that would lead, who knew. The main thing was that Daryl wasn't gone.

And as friends-as brothers-they would fight together. For the group, for justice-even at the end of the world, but whatever happened, they'd fight for the group.

Because that's what family does.


End file.
